Walls
by damedeleslac
Summary: We put up walls, to see them knocked down.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I have a cat and a room full of books. Almost everything else belongs to someone else. Recogniseable characters, TV shows, movies, etc belong to their creators (in some cases otherwise known as god), producers, directors, etc.

Walls.

One… Newbies.

Elizabeth Munroe strained to keep her eyes open, fighting off the yawn she knew was inevitable.

"Tired Newbie?" Her somewhat reluctant partner held out a cardboard cup.

"I was up before 6…" Liz glanced at her watch, "Yesterday."

Darren twisted his arm, reading the clock face. "Not even 24 hrs yet. You got no stamina. What is it with young people these days?"

"Saving themselves for the weekends," Liz finally took the cup, "You remember the sugar?"

"You're the only person…" Darren shook his head, "4 or 5 packets of the real stuff, regular milk. Juts like you keep telling me."

His attention turned back to the rain drenched streets and dark apartment buildings.

"Lemme guess. Nothing?"

Liz blew on her coffee. "A parade needs to pass through for there to be nothing."

Darren studied her. Liz was a sort of penance he supposed. After the Joker Fiasco, Gordan had given him, and about 24 other detectives a choice. Less corupt than many in the Gotham City Police Department, Darren and his coleagues; all about 6 or so years from mandatory retirement, would be getting new partners; rookies from other cities or ex-military newbies, their survival would mean the differance between a cuishy police pension or the new title of 'Rent-a-Cop". Darren had no problems working with a woman, but Liz was only 28; he had a daughter older than her. And she'd been in Gotham for less than a year.

Darren had picked her file randomly, sliding it out from the middle of the pile. Liz had skipped the 5th grade, graduated high school early, spent her 18 months of college studying everthing and then joined the Navy. A friend had said that her Honourabe Discharge had come with a note about 'compassionate reasons'; Darren hadn't asked what he'd meant. She'd travelled for 4 years, worked in a Sherrif's Department and then applied to the GCPD. The newbies and rookies were known, in an almost friendy manner, as 'Gordan's Pet Detectives'. Liz was one of the few who the older detectives grudgingly accepted and Darren was going to make damn sure she was around to plan his retirement party.

Liz yawned again as Darren glanced at the buildings again.

"This bites."

"Babysitting the grandson again?"

"Kids got a vocabulary better than a sailor."

Liz snorted.

"I doubt that," She put her hand on the door. "I'm gonna take a walk."

"And if anyone sees you?"

"I'll put on my best PMS face, use all the words I learnt from my Drill Sergeant," She pulled a leash from her bag, "And threaten to kill the damn dog."

3 addicts, with half a brain cell and half a chemistry degree between them, decided that they could save money by making their own meth and selling what they didn't use. The half a chemistry degree provided equipment, the ingredients and the techical know how. The half a brain cell forgot about noxious fumes, proper ventilation and when not to light a match. They would never know what hit them. Liz wasn't so lucky.

To be continued...

"Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down**."**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I have a cat and a room full of books. Almost everything else belongs to someone else. Recogniseable characters, TV shows, movies, etc belong to their creators (in some cases otherwise known as god), producers, directors, etc

Walls

Two... Words.

Jim Gordan stood on the public side of the crime scene tape. Joseph Darren stood

next to him, scowling at the crowds the uniforms were keeping to the other side of the streets.

"Vultures," Gordan glanced in the direction Darren was glaring, "News at 6, Cop gets blown up."

Gordan sighed. "What happened?"

I already told Miller-"

"I want to hear it from you."

Darren glanced at the news crew, then back at Gordan.

"Liz was doing a walk by, to try and wake up. She'd been awake for almost a day and in the car since 8:30," Darren shrugged, "I'd been out a few times; coffee, bathroom breaks. The cars parked in an alley along side the next building; with the shadows, you can't see it. There's a pizza place at the other end of the alley. Perfect spot."

"So she took a walk?" Gordan prompted.

"Apartment block was quiet. She had a dog lead, like she was looking for a runaway dog."

"And the explosion?"

"More than 10 minutes, less than 20. She could've gone to the bathroom first," Darren sighed, "It was after 2 in the morning, supposed to snow later; all the little muggers and rapists are in their beds. I thought she'd be safe." He shuddered. "I hate explosions. Judges cars, hospitals, ADA's. Makes a person want to hide under his bed."

Darren had stopped watching the crowd, was starring at a point in the road.

"She was off the pavement. Her jacket was smouldering, Liz must've rolled and put the flames out. I made sure she breathing then called it in. There was blood on her face, the buttons on her shirt and the leash were soft, like they'd started to melt. The flash was so hot, you could see where she'd put her arm up to protect her face," Darren ran his hand along the left side of his jaw, "Her skin was already starting to blister."

"Alright. That's enough," Gordan nodded, "Do you know which Hospital she went to?"

"Yeah, St Theresa's."

"Nothing much more will happen tonight. Get yourself home after you check on your partner."

Penelope Dubios pulled out the filnig cabnet draw with a clang, immediatly seraching for Munroe, Elizabeth. It was thinner than most in the draw, stuck almost all the way in the back, wedged between Munroe, Edgar and Munroe, Xavier. The In Case of Emergancy section contained a single phone number, without a name or an address. Penelope didn't recognise it as Liz's or Darren's. She couldn't a name through the reverse phone directory, her friend at the phone company or her 9 year old nephew.

"Shit," Penelope sighed, picking up the phone "I hate this fucking job."

To be continued...

"Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down."

- Socrates


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I have a cat and a room full of books. Almost everything else belongs to someone else. Recognisable characters, TV shows, movies, etc belong to their creators (in some cases otherwise known as god), producers, directors, etc.

Walls.

Three...Friends.

Gordan nodded at the 2 detectives, handing them fresh cups of coffee.

"How is she?"

Francine Delaney and Warwick Meyer glanced at each other before Delaney answered.

"Stable Sir, Liz has a hard head," She sipped her coffee. Gordan recognised the look on her face. Coffee was on of the few substances cops were allowed to get addicted to, "They've sedated her for now."

Gordan's eyebrow twitched upwards. "Liz?"

Delaney grinned. "Girl power Sir."

Meyer rolled his eyes. "Detective Munroe has a visitor Sir."

"Penelope finally find a name to go with that number?"

Meyer shook his head.

"Said that not even her nine year old nephew, who we should probably be arresting later, couldn't find anything. She gave up and left a message about 40 minutes ago," He shrugged, "Wayne's been in there the last 10."

"Wayne?" Gordan lowered his voice, "Bruce Wayne is Detective Munroe's emergency contact?"

Delaney shrugged.

"Looked like the phone woke him up. Didn't stop to shave or grab matching socks. But," she reached down, holding up a small tape player, "He had the message Penelope left."

Gordan glanced at the tape player, then back at Delaney, a bemused expression on his face.

"His socks didn't match?"

"No Sir."

"You keeping an eye on him?' Gordan nodded at the door behind Meyer.

Meyer stepped aside, revealing a small window. Gordan could see the sleeping form of Liz Munroe and Bruce Wayne, slouched in one of the visitor's chairs.

"Commissioner? Do we know what happened yet?"

Gordan turned back to the detectives.

"Three meth heads and a poorly ventilated drug lab. Munroe was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"No crazy freaks then?" Meyer seemed relieved.

"You two get home. No-body's going to be..."

Delaney grinned suddenly, straightening her jacket.

"Right. Meyer, you can give me a lift home," She nodded at Gordan, "Once you've left of course Commissioner."

Bruce Wayne wasn't exactly a stranger. Everyone knew of 'Gotham's Playboy Prince', but Gordan could still remember the shocked ten year old boy he'd wrapped in his father's coat and the boy pretending to be a man, at Joe Chill's parole hearing. Gordan wondered if anyone else realised that the 'Playboy Prince'; who absconded with Russian ballerinas and fell asleep in board meetings, was just an act. A role that everyone expected him to play. A man (not the boy Gordan remembered) hiding behind a drunken fop.

"...Commissioner..."

"Mister Wayne," Gordan sat in the rooms other chair, "I'm going to wait here for a while, if you don't mind the company?"

Bruce stretched out his legs, sinking further into the uncomfortable chair.

"If...?"

"Go back to sleep Mr Wayne. You can tell me how you know Detective Munroe later."

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I have a cat and a room full of books. Almost everything else belongs to someone else. Recognisable characters, TV shows, movies, etc belong to their creators (in some cases otherwise known as god), producers, directors, etc.

Walls.

Four... Memories.

Gordan had been turned around, with his arn twisted behind his back, when he realised that Wayne was only just waking up.  
Bruce let go of Gordam's arm, stepping away from the older man, blinking in the bright morning sunlight.

"Sorry, I wasn't..."

"I'm alright," Gordan put his hand on Bruce's arm; as he had when Bruce had still been asleep, "The nurses need to do their thing. It's easier if we're not in the room."

Gordon waited for Delaney and Meyer to disappear down the elevator before sitting next to Bruce. He watched the clock, waiting in silence that was neither comfortable or uncomfortable.

"You ever wondered how I left Gotham?"

It was a strange place to start, but if it was where Bruce wanted to start, Gordan would let him.

"I know you didn't leave on a plane."

"Gave all my money to a homeless guy on the docks, swapped jackets. There was a boat, some tanker leaving."

"The day that Joe Chill died?"

Bruce nodded. "I had a gun that day, I was going to shoot him."

Gordan stayed silent. It was probably the first time Bruce was telling this story.

"Rachael stopped me. Took years for me to be relieved that she did."

"And now?" Gordan asked, not sure if he really wanted the answer.

"I'm not that person any more."

"So you left by boat," Gordan redirected, "Where was it heading?"

"Around the world. I wanted to not be Bruce Wayne. Liz didn't want to be Elizabeth Munroe."

"Who did you want to be?"

"Nobody; not the kid who watched his parents die. Not the girl who was widowed after less than a month."

"I didn't know she'd been married."

"He died in a training accident. Never told me his name."

Bruce passed Gordan two photographs. The edges were crumpled and torn, creases framing the focus of each picture. The first showed a group around an open fire, a mixture of kids, teen and adults; their faces obscured by the photo being repeatedly folded. Only Bruce and Liz; smiling, relaxed, were recognisable. The second picture was more intimate. A dimly lit room, containing two chairs and a mattress. Bruce was almost the mirror image of Liz. Asleep, with his back against hers.

"You and her?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on Bruce's face. "We watched out for each other. I made her memorise my private number, in case she needed it."

"I guess being caught in an explosion counts."

Bruce stood abruptly, holding out three slips of paper, Gordan almost dropped them.

"This is almost 10 million dollars."

"It's a start."

"To what?" Gordan frowned.

"The Rachel Dawes Memorial Fund."

"Mr Wayne-"

"To pay for on-going and emergency medical care for anyone employed by the Gotham City Police Department. And their families. Anything their insurance doesn't or won't cover. 3 million from myself. 3 from Wayne Enterprises. The other cheque..."

"Anonymous donation?"

"In the memory of Harvey Dent."

Gordan studied the bits of paper; so small for all the responsibility they carried. He thought about Bob Chen, a lab tech, whose mother needed care after a severe stroke. Allan Baker, who should have retired years ago, but still worked as a janitor to help pay his granddaughter's hospital bills. He thought about Rodriguez's mother and Burg's wife.

"And their families?" Gordan asked, glancing at Bruce, who was shrugging on his coat.

"Mum, Dad, kids, grandparents. Even Fluffy the cat," Bruce started towards the elevators, "I'll have some of my lawyers help deal with all the legal stuff."  
He stepped inside the elevator. "You'll need people, people you can trust with 10 million dollars. Leslie Tompkins is good, start with her."

The doors started to close. "And call me when you need more money."

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I have a cat and a room full of books. Almost everything belongs to someone else. Recognisable characters, TV shows, movies etc. belong to their creators, (who, in some cases, are otherwise known as god), producers, directors etc.

Walls.

Five... Stories.

The bruise; a wondrous mix of reds and purples, covers the left side of Bruce's back and chest. He has four cracked ribs and when Alfred finds Bruce, Leslie Tompkins is trying to convince him to get to the nearest hospital and find the radiology department.

"You should be getting a cat scan, an x-ray. You could have internal bleeding!"

"It's no use Leslie," Alfred smirked, "He stopped listening to advice about his health a long time ago."

The doctor smiled at the butler. "A pleasure, as always Alfred."

Bruce scowled. "My health is fine."

Leslie poked at the bruise. Bruce went completely still, his breath catching.

"See?" He gasped, "I'm fine."

Leslie rolled her eyes, muttering something about men in general and Wayne's in particular.

"I'm writing you two prescriptions; a mild pain killer and for sleeping pills. These," She held up a page filled with names and numbers, "Are psychologists who specialize in childhood traumas and PTSD."

"You think I'm nuts Leslie?"

"Asks the man who just tried to convince me that having four cracked ribs and a deep tissue bruise doesn't hurt. And that's not mentioning what you did to get in that condition."

Bruce gave her a charming smile. "I fell."

Leslie rolled her eyes; missing Alfred's raised eyebrows and Bruce's quick nod. He'd told Leslie the truth; he just hadn't told her how far he'd fallen. Or what he'd landed on.

""Take the painkillers Bruce," She gave the prescriptions to Alfred, "No work, no play and definitely no, whatever it was you were doing when you fell!"

"Leslie-"

"Or I'll find the biggest gossip and tell her that you were injured..." She searched for the words, "...engaging in sexual gymnastics with a dominatrix, a furry dressed as the Batman and a gerbil!"

Bruce grinned. "The gerbil's a nice touch. But I doubt anyone would believe the bit about the furry dressed as Batman."

"Thank you for the donation to the clinic Bruce, but you need to get dressed, go home and take your pills," She patted him on the cheek, "I'll be by later to check on you later."

"Gotham Reporter; for all your blah, blah, blah."

"Joey?"

"Hey Cathy, how are the kids?"

"They're fine... I got something for you."

"Let me get a pen... Ok, speak."

"Detective Elizabeth Munroe."

"Who?"

"That cop, the one who walked in front of an exploding meth lab."

"Oh, her. What about her?"

"Her emergency contact is Bruce Wayne."

"You're joking?"

"I'm not. I even got security footage."

"So what's the story?"

"Cops make a call. Wayne shows up around 3:30ish, stays by her bedside 'til after 8. He's sent flowers and she's getting moved to a private room this evening"

"What have you got on her?"

"Not a lot. She's one of Gordon's kid detectives. 29 in a couple of months; 5'10, with green eyes and mousy blonde hair. Be kind of pretty, if she wasn't lobster red."

"Figured out how she knows Prince Charming yet?"

"You know those missing years everyone pretends not to be dying of curiosity about?"

"Yeah?"

"Find out where the cop was and you'll know where Wayne was."

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I have a cat and a room full of books. Almost everything belongs to someone else. Recognisable characters, TV shows, movies etc. belong to their creators, (who, in some cases, are otherwise known as god), producers, directors etc.

**Walls.**

Six... Kith.

"Typical squids, lying around when there's a job to be done," Darren snorted, "Should've joined the Marines."

"Annoying jarheads," Liz muttered sleepily, "Open mouth, insert foot. Hoorah-whatever."

"Jesus Liz," Darren laughed, "Even drugged up to the eyes, you got balls. Detective Smart Mouth. No wonder you don't get out much."

"Not eyes, only up to the shoulders," Her eyes flicked open for a few seconds, "You look better with my eyes closed."

"Some women consider me very handsome." Darren preened.

"Are they the same women who think I'm Wonder Women?"

Darren laughed again and glanced around the room. "So which chair did Prince Charming sit in?"

Liz opened her eyes to look at her partner. "Who?"

"Prince Charming, the Playboy of Gotham? Bruce Wayne?" Darren shrugged, "Cops gossip worse than society dames. That emergency number of yours is Wayne's private line. He and the Commissioner were here all-night."

Concern showed on his face. "You in any trouble?"

Liz smiled softly.

"No more than usual _Dad_," She sighed, "That file you got on me, says I traveled?"

"Yeah. You two... _travel_... together?"

Liz rolled her eyes. "Not the way you're thinking."

"Is that a yes?"  
"A couple of years, a few places. They weren't exactly tourist destinations."

"What were you doing... in places?"

"Running away."

* * *

Disappearing in the middle of the night?" Lucius set the tin of biscuits on the kitchen table, "I thought Bruce was nocturnal?"

"Batman is nocturnal," Alfred spooned tea into the teapot, "Bruce is not."

"Has he told you where he was yet?"

"No. But I found him at the Thomas Street Clinic."

"Leslie Tompkins's charity project."

Alfred nodded. "She's ordered him to bed for a week. Bruce actually agreed with her. Last night's activities have made him bit mellow."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Lucius smiled, "But I'll get his secretary to rearrange his schedule."

"Much appreciated."

"How are we explaining his time off to the press? Are we telling them anything?"

"Tell you the truth, I hadn't thought that far."

"Maybe the 'polo accident' excuse?"

"It won't work. He hasn't been near the stables in a month."

"Household mishap?"

"Drunken fop falls down stairs of newly built family home. Perhaps not."

Lucius brushed crumbs from his tie. "Does Bruce have an ultra light? One of those things MacGuyver built out of bamboo, plastic bags and a lawn mower engine?"

Alfred nodded, recognizing what Lucius was describing. "There's one in one of the out buildings. Earle got it for Bruce's 18th, hoping that he'd break his neck no doubt. Why?"

"Take a sledge hammer to it. Leave it where a photographer can see it. They'll think he had a landing problem."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "And they'll fall for that?"

Lucius smirked. "They've believed every other story we've told them."

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I have a cat and a room full of books. Almost everything belongs to someone else. Recognisable characters, TV shows, movies etc. belong to their creators, (who, in some cases, are otherwise known as god), producers, directors etc.

.

.

* * *

.

**Walls.**

.

.

.

Seven... Gifts

.

.

* * *

.

Estrella put the flash drive onto the paper copy and slid them to the other side of the desk.

"I can't print this." She said quietly.

Joey went white, then red.

"Why not?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"Joey..." Estrella pushed her chair back a few inches, ready to stand if she needed to, "You don't want to know."

"I wouldn't have asked then!" Joey took a deep breath, counting to ten, he'd seen her push her chair back and didn't like that she might be afraid of his reaction, "It's a good story Essie, with sources that check out."

"It's not about the sources or how good the story is or if it will stand up to scrutiny. I just can't... If it was anything else, but I can't-"

"Can't or won't?"

"Joey-"

"Why can't you print it, Ess?"

Estrella wrapped her arms around herself, protecting herself.

"Wayne Media owns 30% of the paper. And Leah works at a Wayne Industries owned company. We've got a mortgage, the kids are finally in a school that doesn't care that their mum's are lesbians. And Leah's aunt; the one who stood by her when she came out, is sick, but she's covered by the Leah's health insurance." She could see it all fall into place in Joey's head, "I don't think that we would lose our jobs, but I don't want to find out what would happen if I printed a story saying that Bruce Wayne spent time in a Chinese prison. I can't risk it."

Joey picked up the flash drive. "So what do I do with this?"

"Safety deposit box." Estrella nodded, mostly to herself, "You won't find anyone to print it now. Save it for a rainy day."

.

/\/\/\/\/\

.

Garcia stuffed a $5 into the coffee mug, giving Detective Fraser what he hoped was a warm smile.

Meg Fraser gave him a 'who are you trying to impress?' glare.

"Thanks." She told him.

"How much have you got so far?"Garcia asked, turning back to the body, "If you want more you'll have to wait for me to get to the ATM."

He liked Detective Munroe. She wasn't as squeamish as others.

Meg tipped the mug out on an empty table.

"About $1...25 and 80 cents, "Meg counted, "It's enough to get her something other than flowers."

"I hear Wayne cleared out a florist." Garcia liked gossip.

"Delaney said he got her a big thing of bird of paradise and a pot of violets." She stuffed the money back into the mug, "Maybe a 1/100th of a florist."

"What did Darren send her?"

"Sunflowers," Meg sat on the table, "The kids in her building got enough together for half a dozen pink roses, the neighbours sent gerberas, tulips, the usual not too expensive, but nice stuff."

She covered her eyes as Garcia set out the equipment he needed for the autopsy.

Meg was a little squeamish.

"There was a cheese basket from the D.A.'s office, the union sent a chocolate basket and a bunch of people trying to suck up to Wayne sent things. Liz had the nurses put them in other rooms."

"Classy girl that one." Garcia pulled Meg's hands away from her face, "What do you think you'll get her?"

Meg shrugged. "Gift certificate?"

"Really?"

"Maybe she needs a new blender or something?"

He helped her down from the table. "That's the best you can think of?"

"My four year old suggested I get her a cat." Meg sighed, "I I used to be good at buying things people need."

"Just a matter of asking the right people, the right questions."

"Such as... How did this guy die? And when?"

Garcia turned back to the body. "When was about four days ago. I can tell you how in a couple of hours."

Meg backed up a couple of steps, looking a little pale. "I'll come back later then."

Garcia waved her goodbye. "Good luck with the ideas."

.

.

.

* * *

To be continued...


End file.
